fin
by Emi Lyndon
Summary: Idly, Ciel wonders if there is room in Hell for regret.' Major spoilers for end of the anime.


**A/N**: This was an interesting piece for me to write, based on the anime. I wanted to delve deeper into Ciel's feelings in the moments before the end of the series, and this is what resulted. The lyrics at the very end are from Anberlin's song, (*Fin), and do not belong to me. I found them to be fitting, and put them in for that express purpose.

**Disclaimer:** All rights reserved. I do not own Kuroshitsuji or any of the characters in it (though I would gladly take Ciel if he's for sale), nor do I own the song by Anberlin.

* * *

It's such a strange way to end things, he notes bitterly, and yet... There's no sense that he's losing anything. Just a strange emptiness that accompanies the whisper of the boat sliding through the water and the silence of the demon behind him.

Ciel never imagined it to happen like this. No, he didn't think about it much at all, really. He'd never been one to delude himself into silly fantasies about white knights and horses; it all seemed so senseless now that he'd seen this new (unimproved) world, where demons are your sword and your shield, and angels are the ones trying to destroy every last one of your vain hopes and aspirations.

Makes you think.

He can vaguely remember the feeling of letting his fingers slip off the ragged edge to which he clung, the rush of wind and fear in his face and finally, the sharp, cold sting of water as blackness engulfed him. A cynical voice comments on how he lied about holding on. In truth, he did hold on for the ten seconds... But then he couldn't, so he let go.

_That's a poor excuse._

Yeah, so? It's not a complete lie, is it?

_Maybe not. But you can't die, not yet._

Not yet. Such strange words, those. Especially when they're in regards to his own death, and he isn't the one saying them. _Not yet_. Ciel feels that he should feel more remorse for his own demise, but he doesn't. He is a mere thirteen years old, and already harbours more hate than fifty lifetimes. He's become a vessel to hatred, a vineyard where it grows and flourishes and multiplies. _Eh_. It's been that way for a while now, so he barely notices anymore.

Thirteen years old and heartless. He's probably better off dead, anyway. Someone will have to take charge of the Phantomhive Company... The thoughts are fleeting. None of them want to stick in his mind.

As if any of it matters.

That was the price; that was what he agreed to from the beginning. He lost his soul and in return he gained temporary control over a being of the supernatural. Now that he thinks about it, was the contract really worth it? Yes, he decides after a moment's deliberation. It was worth every second.

"Elizabeth must be crying." He says, soft. Sebastian agrees quietly. Ciel allows himself to remember his servants, his family, his enemies, and then resolves to forget them as soon as he arrives at his final resting place. _Sigh_. Life goes by too quickly. He hardly had any time to live at all, and the last three years didn't feel much like anything. It was just petty existence. Faint green lights float past him – he comments on their beauty, and Sebastian questions the emotion. There is no emotion to it... They were just... pretty. He feels nothing.

As Ciel's hand drags in the water, it catches a small flower, formed into a ring. The way his heart gives this strange little tug surprises him a little – he thought _that_ particular organ had stopped functioning a while ago. The flower ring reminds him of Elizabeth, the way she would make daisy chains in summertime and place them on his head, laughing and cooing over how _adorable_ he looked. _Hah_. After he'd returned to the manor, he'd become a little tired of Elizabeth's naïveté. It wasn't that he didn't care for her. No, never that. He did like the girl, somewhere deep inside. But that part of him would never manifest itself. Currently, all there was left was that emptiness. Idly, Ciel wonders if there is room in Hell for regret.

Probably not.

The demon reaches over to fumble with the ring, trying to force it on with one hand. The attempts are pathetic and feeble, so Ciel just pulls away.

"You can't do this with just one hand," despite the sense of finality he's starting to feel, Ciel can't help but feel a minimal amount of pity for the poor bastard that lost his arm. The ring looks foolish on his finger; like it doesn't belong.

"It suits you, young master."

Right. It looks out of place, a symbol of wide-eyed innocence – the opposite of him. He lost the purity from his heart the day his parents died. The day he made that accursed contract with the demon that sat behind him. Huh. _Ironic, isn't it?_

Sebastian makes no comment, even though Ciel knows that his thoughts can probably be deciphered. That bastard knows him better than he does himself. _So, this is the end._

Yeah, there's this sense that the end is near. Like the end of a tragic and dramatic tale. But those usually close in a 'happily ever after', and Ciel has learned that those don't exist.

Not for him, anyway.

He's so tired. All he wants is to sleep forever, forever, forever, and never have to wake up.

The word (the idea of) 'death' is so overrated. Best to think of it as the conclusion of something old and exhausted to make way for the new and industrious.

_Aaaah._

He sighs in relief. Truthfully, he is relieved. Even if he'd survived, he didn't know how long he could continue that way. Life was just so… hmm. He doesn't know. There's no emotion in this place, just darkness. Not a bad kind, but it's like… like he's in an empty room with no doors, no windows, and he has endless time to think and to ponder on the curiously restricted existence of humans. When he actually pauses to consider it, humans really are small. Small and insignificant. One man can only do so much. There _are_ eccentrics out there – those that believe they can change something and go out to _prove it_. But what was his proof? A toy company? No, that wasn't it.

He had nothing to carry on a name, only a memory.

And memory fades, after all. The toy company would crumble in his absence, Elizabeth would grow old and die, and no-one will ever remember again.

_Funny little things, humans._ He muses, almost as if he's on a completely different scale. Sebastian nods, only slightly, but in agreement nonetheless. There's a beach in the distance, not too far on the horizon. It looks like a cold, gloomy place – suitable for burial grounds (or whatever would happen to his corpse). There isn't any noise other than the smooth rippling of the water, the oars splashing gently, and their own breathing. He wants to say something, but at the same time he doesn't want to ruin the moment. The boat runs ashore with the crunch of sand, and Sebastian leans over to pick him up. He'd always hated feeling so weak that the demon had to carry him, but truthfully, he _is _weak, and so tired. All Ciel wants is to end this journey. They continue mutely. None of the surroundings look inviting. A suitable resting place, indeed.

What he presumes is the middle of this island is where Sebastian stops, assessing the ragged brick walls and setting Ciel down (gently) on the convenient bench. Idly, Ciel wonders how many times before Sebastian has done this, and if he had this particular bench made for the purpose of devouring innocent souls (and not-so-innocent alike).

There is an awkward pause before Ciel wets his lips and speaks.

"Will it hurt?"

"A little. I will be as gentle as possible."

"Don't," Sebastian looks up at him, curiosity in his crimson eyes. "Make it as painful as you can." The way the demon's brow creases slightly is enough for Ciel. "Carve the pain of my life into my soul." Brief surprise flashes across Sebastian's face; it passes quickly.

"Yes..." His tongue runs over perfect teeth as he bows to the boy. "My Lord." The bastard moves forward with a feline kind of grace, a predator stalking his cornered prey.

Ciel leans back and waits. The demon caresses his face tenderly, pulling the eye patch off in the process. Oh, how he wants it to end. The infernal lethargy sweeping through his bones. The sense that he's already dead. Sebastian leans forward.

"Now then... young master."

And it hurts. It hurts, but he doesn't scream, or cry, or fight it. He merely lets the agony sweep him away in a whirlwind of thought, of memory, of history. _Elizabeth, smiling. Madame Red, smirking and stroking his hair. Aberlin and his worried, caring eyes. Tanaka and his devotion to the Phantomhives. His mother, laughing. His father, proud and sad and broken. Angela, deceived and deceiving. The queen, young and decaying. Finny, with his strange strength and sweet honesty. Bard, with his angular face and quirky words (not to mention the times he had to renovate the kitchen because the man tried to cook with explosives). Maylene and how she always insisted on wearing those silly glasses that made her even clumsier than necessary. All of the people that had ever affected him. _

Sebastian's image is the last that melts into his mind, and it lingers much longer than the rest.

Sebastian, a demon, his ultimate demise. That's the price for selling your soul, he supposes. Despite the pain, he's calm. Apparently, there's an afterlife. And he's going to spend his in eternal darkness and flame. _Fantastic_. Still, he's had more than a taste of that. It won't be anything new.

All he wants is:

death

end

Sebastian

memory

innocence.

But only one of those is truly going to happen, and even so, it's not exactly what he wanted. To every end is a new beginning for something else. Sebastian will be there, but only until this is over. A memory, someone to remember him by, is simply impossible. They'll remember for a while, but it will be swept away by new faces and celebrities and banality.

As for innocence… Well, once you lose that, you'll never get it back.

He closes his eyes.

_So tired._

The pain has slowed to a dull throb – it could have been that he was growing accustomed to it.

Ciel can feel the fatigue in his bones. He's hurt enough to account for fifteen (or fifty) lives.

There is nothing left in this life for him.

So he lets go of it,

and lets darkness take over.

_fin._

_patron saint, are we all lost like you?_

_take what you will, what you will and leave. could you kill, could you kill me?_

_if the world was on fire, and nothing was left but hope or desire_

_and take all that I could bring forth, is this Hell?_

_Or am I on the floor, over-desperate hold hands, streaming of blood again._

_and then take full weight of me, guard my dreams, figure this out._

_it's me on my own._

_helpless, hurting Hell. will you stay strong as you promised?_

_because I'm stranded and bare._

_meanness is washed up in all that I am, is God, take this and all,_

_then grace takes me to a place of the father you never had_

_ripping and breaking and tearing apart._

_this is not heaven, this is my hell._


End file.
